


First Time Ever I Saw Your Face

by Loz



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Anal Sex, Dirty Talk, Dubious Consent, Friends to Lovers, Hand Jobs, Light Angst, M/M, Pack Bonding, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Rimming, Sex Magic, college students
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-11
Updated: 2018-01-11
Packaged: 2019-03-03 13:24:48
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,743
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13342152
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Loz/pseuds/Loz
Summary: Scott goes to Stiles wearing only a tank top and shorts, seeking his help. The problem is that he tried to use magic to help the pack bond, and it didn't go according to plan.





	First Time Ever I Saw Your Face

**Author's Note:**

> Your mileage may vary on the consent issues, so a thorough breakdown is in the end-notes. Title from the song of the same name. I was specifically listening to the Roberta Flack version, because it is beautiful.

When Scott enters his bedroom and collapses straight onto his bed, Stiles thinks it’s fatigue. He doesn’t mind the dip of the mattress near him, doesn’t bother to do more than give a quick glance. He types a few more lines to someone who should have a degree in being wrong on the internet, fingers and thumbs flying across his keyboard. It’s only when Scott twists against his sheets and whines his name that he looks up and notices that anything’s wrong. 

Scott’s only wearing a tank top and shorts, there’s a sheen of sweat over his skin, his hair is damp and his eyes are almost completely pupil. 

“Oh my god, what’s wrong, are you dying? Please don’t be dying.”

Scott blinks at him, sucks in a deep breath. “M’not dying.”

Stiles puts his laptop on the floor, adjusts until he can touch Scott – then thinks maybe he shouldn’t without asking, perhaps it will make things worse. Scott gazes at him, frowns at his hovering hand.

“What do you need, Scott?”

“I need to feel you. Whatever you were thinking of doing, please do it.”

Stiles places a hand on Scott’s forehead and the other against his jaw. Scott’s skin is fever-hot, and Stiles can feel his pulse rocketing against his fingertips. His own heart starts pounding, like call and response, and he doesn’t know what to do. Should he call Melissa? Deaton? But Scott deliberately came to him so either they’re unavailable or Scott didn’t want them involved. 

“I did something really dumb, Stiles,” Scott says, moving against the sheets like he’s trying to peel out of his skin. 

Stiles rubs up and down his arm, still cradling his jaw, panicking because he can’t see what he should do, what he can do other than keep talking to Scott. Scott’s writhing, arching up intermittently, panting and licking at his lower lip. He’s making hurt little noises at the stroke of Stiles’ hand, but puts his own on top and keeps him there when Stiles tries to let go. 

Scott stares at him, then scrunches up his eyes, his mouth twisting into a moue of self-directed anger. “I shouldn’t be asking this of you.”

“I still don’t know what’s wrong, Scotty. I don’t know what you want. You haven’t asked anything of me.”

“I performed a spell,” Scott says in a rush. “I thought it was gonna strengthen pack bonds. There were warnings, references to sacrificing essences, to completing intimate rituals and I thought I had everything, thought it’d be okay because I’m a True Alpha and I spilled my blood on the nemeton. But I… I got it wrong.”

Stiles cards his fingers through Scott’s damp hair, rubs up and down his forearm. He casts his gaze over Scott and notices how he’s tenting his shorts, realizes that the musk he’s smelling isn’t just sweat. The flexes of his hips make perfect, clear sense to Stiles now. He can feel heat rushing under his own skin at the implications. 

“I was going to call Melissa, but now I’m thinking that’s the worst of all ideas.”

Scott gusts out a pained laugh, opens his eyes again to fix Stiles with hazy eye-contact. “I thought I could do it by myself, but nothing’s working. My body’s screaming out for more.”

“I can do that, I can give you more,” Stiles promises, no hesitation necessary. He won’t burden Scott by telling him it’s something he’s imagined in countless hues and shades, something that keeps him up at night and sends him off to sweet dreams.

Scott shakes his head. “I think if you just hold me, I’ll be all right. Is that okay?”

Stiles feels his heart sinking into the depths of him, but he nods. “How do you wanna do this?”

Scott winces, begins to sit up. “I think if you sit behind me, wrap your arms around my torso, I can – you know – and still be getting the body contact this spell demands.”

They adjust until Stiles is sitting up against his headboard, Scott in the cradle of his arms and while part of Stiles loves it, is getting worked up at having Scott against him, he’s frustrated he can’t see and disgusted he wants that given how clear it is that Scott patently doesn’t. 

“You need any slick?” he asks. “Top left-hand drawer.”

“I don’t think I need it,” Scott says, sounding shamed, and Stiles hates that. Hates that Scott is viewing this as an imposition, as something to feel guilty and apologetic about. 

Stiles’s left arm is resting just above Scott’s belly button, his right is halfway across Scott’s pecs. He strokes his thumb against the tank top at Scott’s breast-bone, a touch meant to reassure. His own skin tightens when the wet sounds of Scott’s hand on his dick begin, when Scott starts to rock forward, and he lets out breathy little grunts. Scott’s free hand is scrabbling against the sheets, bunching the material in his fingers like he needs something to tether him to this reality. Stiles tips his head back, closes his eyes, and imagines what it must look like, how the head of Scott’s dick must be purpling, how his palm must be covered in precome. 

He’s hard within his jeans, but thankfully Scott isn’t butted up against him that tightly and won’t be able to tell. He wills himself not to clench Scott’s thighs between his own, stop himself from mirroring his rolls and flexes. 

Five minutes go by and Scott’s grunts turn desperate, his hip movements jagged. “It’s not –” he mutters to himself. “Why won’t this work?”

“Do you want me to try?” Stiles asks, softly. 

Scott shudders through a sigh. “I can’t ask you to do that.”

“I’m offering. I want to do it. But only if it won’t hurt you more.”

Scott twists in his embrace, looks at him. His eyes are the most focused Stiles has seen them today -- dark and mesmerizing -- his lips are plush and parted, his nostrils are flaring, and he looks like he’s a second away from rejecting Stiles again, despite his better interests, despite his needs and wants. 

“Please, Scotty, let me take care of you.”

Scott’s entire demeanor changes. His gaze goes heated, his swallows noticeably, his Adam’s apple bobbing in his throat. He shifts further away, but only to settle back facing Stiles, straddling his thighs. Stiles can’t help but reflexively look down at Scott. His dick slaps wetly against his treasure-trail, his shorts are strained, tucked under his balls. Scott’s dick is thick and curved, the head dusky purple like Stiles imagined. His slit is dribbling a steady flow of watery precome, all shiny and slick, which does untold things to hidden parts of Stiles’ mind. His balls look full and heavy, the wrinkled skin paper-thin and delicate. When Stiles looks up again he can see that Scott’s been watching him carefully, that he looks surprised. 

“You weren’t kidding when you said you wanted to, huh?” Scott asks, voice thick. 

“No. Is that a problem?”

Scott presses his eyes shut, his whole body resettles incrementally. His eyelashes flutter as he opens his eyes again. “It’s the opposite of a problem.” Scott leans forward, ghosts a kiss against Stiles’ cheek and presses his lips right at the corner of his mouth. “I want you, Stiles. I trust you.”

Stiles tilts his head and kisses Scott gently, pulls back to gauge the reaction. Scott’s response is to capture him in another kiss, to open him up sweetly but firmly with his tongue. Scott places one of his hands at the back of Stiles’ head, fingers working into his nape and up, like he wants to provide his own comfort, like he needs to concentrate on another sensation.

Stiles takes Scott’s cock in his hand and moans at how hot, wet and girthy it feels against his palm. Scott’s so hard and Stiles can feel his pulse throbbing, the swift rush of blood. He slides his hand over him just to feel it, but begins a steady stroke when Scott bucks up. It’s easy to softly nudge his thumb against Scott’s balls on every downstroke, to swipe the tip of his head on every up. Easy to twist his wrist and jack Scott off until he’s murmuring ‘yes’ and ‘god’ and ‘Stiles’ between breaths, strung-out and long-voweled.

When Scott comes it’s a shock to the both of them. His expression is beautiful; something Stiles wants to see again and again and again. Scott trembles against Stiles, his thighs jumping, almost shaking with the force of it. He moans against Stiles’ kisses, tugs lightly at Stiles’ hair. His come jets high up between them, strings of it, all over his tank top and Stiles’ t-shirt. Stiles gentles him through the aftershocks, ignoring his own instinctive reaction, the clench of all his muscles, the flex of his dick against his zipper.

Scott rolls his head to the side so he can take in deeper breaths, the warm air pushing against Stiles’ cheek like a summer breeze.

Stiles rubs his hand down Scott’s arm again, strokes against his knuckles. “Feeling better, Scotty?”

Scott seems to center himself, eyes flickering as he scans his body. “Yeah. _Yeah_ ,” he says. “The fever-ache’s gone.” 

Stiles likes the weight of Scott on him, the scent of sex in the air, but it’s doing nothing for helping his dick go down. He wriggles, hoping the different position will ease the tension and give him some relief.

“Let me help you,” Scott says, husky. He’s fully attentive and all of his concentration is on Stiles.

“I’m not sure that’s necessary,” Stiles says, though his entire nervous system screams at him to shut up. “I’m about a second away from coming in my pants.”

Scott draws up and away from Stiles, sits on the edge of the bed, facing him. “Can I borrow some clothes after I’ve washed up?”

Stiles frowns disbelievingly at him. “Of course.”

Just watching Scott strip off his top while grinding the heel of his palm into his dick is enough to send Stiles over the edge. He immediately wishes he’d at least attempted to unzip, the mess quickly going sticky and making his boxer briefs cling. Scott’s busy looking through his dresser and retrieving a shirt, boxer briefs and some sweats to pay him much mind. 

Scott murmurs something about not taking long and goes into the bathroom, returning for a moment with a damp cloth for Stiles, before exiting again. 

Stiles pulls his sheets off his bed after he cleans and redresses, though there’s still a voice inside him that wants to sleep in their sex-scent and roll around until he’s smothered in it. When Scott comes back into the room he looks completely refreshed. He’s showered and dried his hair, is wearing Stiles’ clothes – and Stiles is perplexed by how his dick jerks and throbs at that – and has a somewhat sheepish smile on his face.

“If you ever need help again, _any kind_ of help again, know that I’m here for you,” Stiles says, to pre-empt Scott trying to suggest he’s regretful or ashamed or guilty.

“I’d like to think I’ll be better at spotting sex magic in the future, but I’ll remember, I promise.” Scott presses closer, leans their foreheads together. “Thank you.”

Stiles can’t say the hundreds of things he wants to say, can’t move until they’re kissing again, can’t hold his heart out in his hand and give it to Scott like he desperately wants. 

So, instead, he whispers, “Any time,” and ensures Scott’s got shoes and socks before seeing him out the door.

*

Things are not awkward, tense or forced between them like Stiles expects them to be. He doesn’t actually know how they manage that, except that Scott treats him how he always has and it doesn’t take a lot of effort to respond in kind. Stiles has entire nights where his mind powerfully recreates every single second of the day Scott came to him in desperation, and he wakes up in a sticky pool of his own making, but he’s able to maintain his cool when they’re together. Sometimes his heart kicks into a persistent rhythm section when they touch, but it’s always done that, so Scott doesn’t seem to notice.

The truth is, Stiles is happy to be by Scott’s side however he’s allowed.

The pack starts to meet once a week – whenever someone thinks they’re going to have to cancel, the stars align and they’re magically freed from whatever blocked their way. It’s one of the benefits of still living at home and commuting to college. They take turns buying or making lunch and discussing future plans. Start up a kind of tutoring study-hall for an hour or two, where Liam and Stiles work through Stiles’ college physics and astronomy units, and he helps Liam with English. Scott and Mason concentrate on philosophy, and Lydia continues to help Malia understand math. 

A few months pass and things are going smoothly, so, naturally, something happens to shake up the order. Stiles doesn’t know exactly what it is, only that Mason stops coming to pack meetings and therefore Liam only turns up every second week himself. Scott goes stone-faced when Lydia asks him about it, and usually when they battle wills, Lydia wins, but not this time. 

After five weeks of this, Stiles realizes he’s going to have to get involved. 

He isn’t very proud that he goes to Mason first, but Scott likes to shield people from painful truths and will occasionally hold his cards close to his chest. Stiles thinks of himself as a pragmatic, efficient kind of person. He’s going to take the simplest route. 

He hates being on Beacon Hills High’s grounds again, would rather saw off his foot and chew it to the bone, but it’s the best place to corner Mason. Especially because he asked Liam to help set him up. He finds him by the bleachers, eating what looks to be a salad, because Mason says he needs to eat at least seven different types of vegetable every single day. Stiles may never truly understand this kid, even though they have similar stories of possession and being turned into pawns who harm the ones they love.

“What’s up?” he asks Mason, putting as much authority into the question as he can. He knows he’s literally only a year older than Mason, but in the pack hierarchy, he’s effectively his line manager. 

“If you think you can intimidate me, Stiles, you are correct, but it would be a cruel thing for you to do,” Mason says, staring mulishly at the Lacrosse field.

“Then tell me what’s wrong so I don’t feel forced into it.”

“Scott won’t let me train with Alan. Won’t let me so much as practice applying wards. Alan thinks I have the makings of a mage, if not an Emissary, but Scott made him promise not to teach me.”

It’s the kind of flagrant abuse of power _he_ might use, but it doesn’t sound like Scott.

“That doesn’t sound like Scott.”

Mason scowls, the expression foreign on his face. “Trust me, he doesn’t like it when you point that out. He says he has his reasons and that he knows best. Since when does Scott McCall pull the ‘I know best’ card?”

Stiles sighs. “I’ll talk to him.”

“Liam tried.”

Stiles scoffs. “Yeah, and Liam’s not me.”

Stiles can understand being reluctant about magic, he is so himself for sure, but it sounds like Deaton would be in charge, would be overseeing Mason’s studies, and honestly the pack could use someone who at least understands more about how magic works. Stiles is worried that Scott’s letting his bad experience cloud his judgement, and that doesn’t sound very useful for the future. 

He texts Scott that he’s coming over and does everything in his power not to feel wildly freaked out about the conversation he’s going to pursue. 

*

Scott’s wearing Stiles’ t-shirt when Stiles wanders into the kitchen. It’s one of his oldest ones, dark blue, material worn and thin, with a peeling graphic that was Jurassic Park themed once upon a time. Stiles almost swivels straight on his heel and leaves the room. Scott looks wholly unconcerned. Stiles is practically vibrating out of his skin.

“Coffee?” Scott offers, starting the machine before Stiles opens his mouth to answer. Caffeine at a time like this could prove disastrous. But he’ll probably drink it all the same. 

“We need to talk about Mason.”

Scott rolls his eyes, taking his whole head with it. He doesn’t look at Stiles, instead concentrating on the coffee machine at the kitchen counter. “No we don’t.”

“We kinda do. You can’t let your regrets dictate other people’s choices.”

“I absolutely can. That’s what speaking from experience means. That’s one of the key responsibilities of being the leader of the pack.”

“But it was just the once and it didn’t turn out that bad. If we completely shun magic, we shun mountain ash lines, we shun Deaton’s talismans, we shun learning new defence mechanisms.”

Scott turns to him, finally, eyebrows raised. “Didn’t turn out that bad?”

An angry Scott is a quiet, formidable Scott, and Stiles isn’t immune to that. He starts to pace, talking with his hands as much as his voice. “I mean, you know, it sucked for you at the time, I get that, you were put into an impossible position, but in the long-run it hasn’t been a problem. I was able to help you, so even though I know you wish it had never happened, it’s by far _not_ the worst situation we’ve encountered.”

“I don’t wish it had never happened, god, Stiles. I wish it’d happened differently.”

That pulls Stiles up short. He leans on the closest chair-back, plants his feet. “What?”

“I made it into an obligation. I forced you into it.”

“Scotty, no. You know that’s untrue, right? Like, that’s at the zenith of untrue. You didn’t force me into a _thing_. Don’t you remember how I reacted?”

“Because you wanted to help me.”

“Because I wanted you. Because I’ve always wanted you.” Stiles metaphorically pulls his heart out of his chest, offers it to Scott like a promise. “No obligation on my part except the desire to see you free from pain. I wanted to help you, but I also really wanted to see what you look like when you’re overcome. Wanted to hear your voice when you’re on the edge. Wanted to make you feel something I’d never made you feel before.”

Scott stares at him, all plans for coffee clearly forgotten. His gaze is intense, and Stiles doesn’t know what’s about to happen until Scott stalks toward him, gathers him in his arms, and kisses him senseless.  


Stiles hums into Scott’s kisses, holds Scott tight against him, fingers playing against his spine. 

Stiles sucks in quick breaths in between kisses, says what’s on his mind. “I can’t believe you thought I felt _obliged_ to bring you off. You squirming against me’s the hottest thing I’ve ever seen.”

“You didn’t want me to touch you.”

“Wrong. I wanted it too much.”

Scott frames his face as he steps back, rubs his thumb against Stiles’ cheekbone. “I wish you would’ve told me.”

“Fuck, so do I.” 

Scott lets go, starts walking out of the kitchen. Stiles watches him, chest heaving, eyebrow raised. Scott glances over his shoulder. “Are you gonna stand there or follow?”

Stiles trips and almost lands on his face, he walks so quickly to catch up. Scott huffs out a laugh, tugs him against his side with one of his arms, marches him up the stairs. Stiles’ whole body is fizzing with anticipation, his joints have gone weak, and he thinks it’s possible his lungs are about to burst into billions of tiny fluttering flower petals. He’s pretty sure he squeaks when Scott closes his door with them inside and then proceeds to press him up against it, kissing him with just the right levels of control, curiosity and request.

They kiss for a long time; long, drugging kisses that warm Stiles up and have him whimpering. He strips his shirt off after a while, pushes at the one Scott’s wearing. Scott breaks away for a second to throw it off and away, to kick out of his jeans too. He works on Stiles’ zipper a second later, curves his hand over Stiles’ half-hard length. 

“I’ve been thinking about this for a really long time.”

“Yeah?”

“Mmm hmm. Wrapping my fingers around your long cock, feeling how hard you are for me. I’ve had dreams about testing how much I can fit in my mouth, how long I can suck you off before you come deep inside me.”

Stiles tips his head back, deliberately bares his throat for Scott. “You’re trying to kill me, but what a way to go.”

Scott mouths at Stiles’ throat immediately, sucking at the thin skin just below his ear. He increases his pressure on his cock, squeezing with calculated pulses, dragging the rapidly dampening material up and down. He slides his fingers under the waistband eventually, until they’re skin to skin, and there’s the pleasure-pain drag of friction. He helps Stiles step out of his underwear, then crouches in front of him, tonguing at his slit, holding onto his base and sucking him down. 

He makes the sweetest slurping sounds, sliding off and on, taking Stiles deeper with every pass. Stiles looks down in time to see Scott gazing up at him; focused, calculating, smiling when he pulls completely off. 

“I had a shower just before you came,” Scott says, rising from his crouching position, swiping his thumb over his full lower lip. 

“There’s a mental image that’s unnecessary but welcome.”

“I spent half the morning relaxing, opening myself up on one of my toys,” Scott says next, voice deceptively innocent.

It takes a second for Stiles to get with the program, when he does he can feel the blush from his chest to his forehead. 

“Who are you and what have you done with my notoriously nerdy best friend?”

Scott blinks, looks wrong-footed for the first time. “Too much?”

“Uhhh, fuck no. This is perfect. You’re amazing. I’m about to blow my load without either of us touching my dick because you’re deliciously dirty. It’s a revelation.”

Scott smiles and looks more like the person Stiles knows and loves, so Stiles cranes forward and kisses him, deeply. He slides his hands down Scott’s back and over his asscheeks, pushing and then pulling them apart. Stiles sucks lightly on Scott’s tongue then ghosts his finger over Scott’s hole, pressing gently in. Scott groans, rolling his hips into Stiles’ then back again. 

They make it to the bed somehow, Stiles doesn’t know how. There’s a bottle of lube and condoms beside him and he’s eating Scott out with digs of his tongue, holding onto Scott’s thighs so he can lift his ass up higher, position him exactly where he wants. Scott’s resting on his forearms and knees, legs splayed wide, mouth open against his wrist. 

Stiles presses kisses against the dip of Scott’s back, hikes him up again when Scott writhes in his hold. Scott’s making little gut-punched sounds, rocking back on his knees and sighing when Stiles slicks up a finger and begins opening him up even more. Stiles can’t help but continue to lick around his rim as he finger-fucks him, can’t help but want to feel that smooth inner warmth on his tongue. 

Scott’s a little loose, but not much, not enough. It takes time to get him pliable enough that three fingers fit comfortably. Stiles almost comes before he can notch the head of his dick and watch Scott stretch around him, but he squeezes tight at his base and rolls the condom on with practiced ease. Watching Scott suck him in has his chest going tight and his limbs turning to jelly. Scott’s rim closes on the rounded head of his cock and it takes all of Stiles’ stamina not to start rutting into him like a wild thing.

Scott’s hot and tight around him, malleable like he’s supposed to be made for this, again and again. Stiles hunches down, bends over his back so he can kiss over his neck, his cheek. Scott swivels until he can meet him, kissing him once, twice on the lips. Scott looks at him from beneath his lashes, gusts out a breath. He’s stunning, like this, splayed out for Stiles, frowning slightly, shoulder flexing because he’s jacking himself off. He’s quiet, though, and Stiles wonders what he should do to get him whispering the filthy things he was insinuating earlier, wonders how he can get him shouting. 

Stiles pulls back upright, drags out and slides in again, balls deep, sets as steady a rhythm as he can manage. The sound of their bodies slapping together is obscenely loud, his own panting a counterpoint to the slick smack of flesh. Stiles rests his hands on the small of Scott’s back, urging him to meet his strokes, though it’s less of a guide and more going along for the ride with Scott’s perfectly timed movements. 

“More?” Scott asks, breathy.

Stiles can’t stop himself from thrusting harder at that invocation, long drawn-out motions that jut Scott forward on the bed and have them both whimpering. His fingers slide more than once off Scott’s back and sides, and he attempts to drag him closer, tries to pull him near. His cock slips out a few times and pushing back into Scott’s clenching heat is always incredible. 

“I’m gonna… I’m… Stiles, I’ve gotta…” Scott whines, clenching vice-like around him in quick contractions that damn near suck the come straight out of Stiles’ cock. 

“Let go, Scotty. I’ve got you. I’m gonna keep taking care of you, sweetheart. You don’t have to hold back.”

Scott comes with a high-pitched moan, quaking around Stiles. He buries his face into the bed until all Stiles can see is the nape of his neck, the nubs of his spine. 

Stiles curves over his back and jackrabbits his hips, all sense of rhythm and finesse out of his mind. He has a singular purpose now that he’s given Scott release and that’s seeking his own pleasure. He drives in, every muscle tensing and juddering as Scott relaxes and loosens around him, the slide becoming quicker and easier. 

“Next time, will you tell me how it feels?” he asks, thrusting mindlessly. “Say all the pretty, dirty words that are on your mind? ‘cause I’d like that. I wanna know what I do to you.”

His eyes roll back in his head when he finally crests over the edge and pumps out rope after rope of come into his condom. He’s both aching and ecstatic all over, heart skipping, lungs seizing, limbs losing all sense of coordination. 

He has enough presence of mind to slip out of Scott and do what needs to be done before he’s tipping to the side, copying Scott’s position so his back is tight against Scott’s chest. They don’t have pillows, and this will annoy Stiles at some distant point in the future, but he resolves not to care when Scott wraps an arm loosely around him, kisses the top of his neck. 

“I wanted to feel you,” Scott says, hushed. “Against me. Inside me. Wanted you to ruin me for anyone else. Felt bad about it, but it’s what I was thinking about when I performed that stupid fucking spell. It’s how I knew to go to you. How I thought it’d work.”

Stiles flops around with a flail, faces Scott’s serious dark eyes and pink, plump lips. Scott’s expression makes Stiles’ heart flip again. Scott doesn’t look wrecked, he looks remade.

“Thank you for trusting me,” Stiles replies. “It means a lot, because I trust you.” Stiles takes a breath, wills his stomach to stop tensing. He can do this. He can be honest. “I love you.”

Scott doesn’t look surprised, but he looks grateful, like the sun’s rising in his eyes, happy in a way that has every nerve in Stiles’ body singing, telling him to say it again. Scott kisses him, slow and gentle, shifting closer until there’s only an inch or two between them down the length of their bodies.

“I love you too.”

**Author's Note:**

> Scott performs a spell that doesn't behave the way he thinks it will. It acts similarly to sex pollen, making him sexually frustrated and in need of release. He tries to find that alone, but is unable to, so he goes to Stiles. Scott and Stiles both consent to the sexual acts they engage in, but as they are forced into the situation by the spell, and they each feel uneasy about this, I have tagged for dubious consent. Neither character is under any influence when they are together at the end.


End file.
